


Charmed

by thealeksdemon



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-04-23 19:16:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4888843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thealeksdemon/pseuds/thealeksdemon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>King Roland died a year ago, but his grieving wife, Marianne, is still under his spell. Still afflicted with the love potion he cast on her, Queen Marianne hasn't left her private rooms since. In the effort to break the spell, suitors are thrown at her left and right, and one day she decides she's had enough. Escaping into the Dark Forest in search for a break, she does not expect to meet the King who took everything away from her long ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction ever, so I hope it's fine. But here's a bit of background for this AU first:
> 
> Roland used the love potion on Marianne to ensure his spot as King after being caught cheating. Inexperienced and arrogant, he declares war against the Dark Forest, but loses his life in a duel against Bog. Also, instead of locking her up afterwards, Bog sent Sugar Plum away, making her vow to never speak of his experience with the love potion ever again.

The hollow chamber was cast in shadow, not a soul but two conversing in the quiet of night. A soft spring breeze coated the Dark Forest’s palace, inhaled by the skull entrance and filling the room with the remains of last winter’s chill. All of the King’s court had been dismissed for this exchange, as there was no need for an audience to this humiliation.

 “I’ve had enough of your lies, Sugar Plum,” a gruff voice bellowed from across the throne room, hurt laced through his every word. “Your potion does not work.”

 The fairy under scrutiny harrumphed. Silver dust fell from fingertips as she tapped incessantly on her hips, unamused blue eyes regarding the King of the Dark Forest with lips pursed in frustration. “I can assure you it works, Bog King. There’s a reason why it didn’t. If only you’d just _listen_ —“

 “— _Enough!”_ His fist slammed into his throne, the impact reverberating about the room in an ear-splitting crack. His breaths shivered as anger made the air around him pulse and throb, his wings quivering in tandem with his broken heart. “Take your potion. Leave this place. I’ve had enough of these worthless fairy promises.”

 His anger startled the Sugar Plum fairy, and she found herself floating backwards hesitantly. “But—“

 “—No.” He ground out, standing from his perch. The moonlight above him illuminated his unforgiving scowl as he wrapped his fingers around his staff, the honey-coloured stone flashing hues of gold on the blue fairy. Stepping forward, Bog cocked his head, baring his teeth at the creature that had fooled him. “I suggest you flee to your Fairy Kingdom, Sugar Plum, before I decide that I’d rather you remain here to atone for your failure to me.”

 This time, Sugar Plum narrowed her eyes, knowing that there was no way her words would’ve reached this man. Crossing her arms, she considered for a moment trying to explain one last time. Then finally, “fine. I’ll take this courtesy, and give you my gratitude for this kindness. I’ll be taking my love potion as well, if it pleases you.”

 Bog King frowned, but grumbled deeply in his throat. “You shall. On _one_ condition.”

 Sugar Plum, displeased at being called a failure, looked at her nails. “Whatever you ask, your Highness.” She wasn’t keen on staying in the Dark Forest any longer, especially not in a place where her magic was not properly appreciated. She had worked hard in making the love potion, especially seeing the sincerity of the Bog King’s affections. However, she found him rather impetuous, having been too eager to hear the entire set of rules regarding the love potion. Recklessly, he had immediately dusted the object of his affections without heeding Sugar Plum's words.

 Now here they were, a fairy that had wished him all the happiness love had to offer, and a broken-hearted King who apparently was unable to use his ears.

 Absentminded, Sugar Plum had not heard the hum of Bog's wings as he floated over to her. Only when his shadow engulfed her did she realize just how close he was. Only when she looked up, did she see his barely contained rage.

 Bog King’s words cut into her, embedding into her his purpose and his promise for retaliation if she so chose to disobey. “You will speak of this to no one. You will tell no soul of whom you made that foul brew for—and if you speak, I shall catch word of it. Then you shall find my armies at your door, and I will teach you how easy it is to keep your mouth shut when you lack a tongue.”

 Sugar Plum stilled, but was not frightened. These were only the words of a man who had given up on one of the greatest things this world had to give. Perhaps even, she had played a part in it. _If only he listened_.

 Closing her eyes, she bowed. “You have my word.”


	2. Vows and Visitors

It’s been a year. An entire year since her world fell apart in shambles, snuffed like candle at dusk. Pain that resonated in her chest refused to ebb away into a tiresome ache, and her tears still flowed from her eyes in a ceaseless stream.

 _He’s gone_ , she thought to herself, biting her lip. _He’s gone._

Marianne turned over in her flowerbed, pulling at her tangled, chestnut hair. Her flushed cheeks were sticky with tears, and her eyes were puffy and red. For a moment, she wondered what time it was. Then, thinking to herself, she realized it was just past midday. Frustration and weariness overcame her and she groaned—as if the day could not stretch any longer.

It was also almost time for her newest _visitor_ to arrive. Another pointless suitor who was meant to “break her spell,” or so everyone claimed. She wasn’t under _any_ spell, to be true, and having to spend time with a different man each week to get to know him—how ridiculous! The incessant need to try to make her forget her last love was bordering bizarre, if not already insane. For the past seven months visitor upon visitor was thrown at her like she was a target board, and they the daggers. Or at least, in this case, they were all more like flower seeds, bouncing off of her and falling, uselessly, to the barren ground.

Marianne had just accustomed herself to calling them all “visitor,”—as if she’d remember any of their names, or differentiate the whorls of one shape of windblown hair from any of the rest. By now she had assumed the Fairy Court had exhausted their bachelor resources, but wishing for that would have just been her being hopeful. The Fairy Kingdom was far bigger than she wished it to be, and there was not going to be a time for her to see the end of this—this _list_ of invitees.

Standing, Marianne strode over to her vanity, eyeing the three crystal mirrors with mild indifference. Spotting her reflection after sitting in a slouch, she winced. _Roland would have never wanted to see me this way._

But he was unable see her now. He’d never see her again.

Another bout of tears almost seized her, but she resisted. Reaching forward, she almost grabbed her comb, but immediately changed her mind. What was the point now? Hopefully, this next suitor would be scared away by simply seeing her face. To add more emphasis to her dishevelment, she scowled at her mirror.

As if on cue, there was a soft rapping on her door. Clenching her teeth, she waited for it to open, rather than open it herself. After a moment, there was nothing. Then, following the silence was shuffling and whispering. When finally the door creaked open, Marianne spotted that familiar head of flaxen hair.

She had gotten used to not mistaking it for Roland’s golden locks. What kind of person was she anyway, to have assumed her sister was her late husband?

Dawn smiled warmly in greeting from the crack in the doorway, shining like always, even though there was a hint of sadness in her blue eyes. As if something was dulling her glow. The sight of that ill-placed sorrow made Marianne frown a little in discomfort, even though she had seen this look on her sister’s face for months. Even now it _still_ irked her. There wasn’t anything within her power that could help Dawn shed that look, _especially_ since the only remedy for it was for Marianne to do the impossible:

Fall out of love.

“Hey,” Dawn whispered, her soft lilt riding the air like a melody, although burdened by a tired rasp. “Do you have time?”

Marianne felt a pang of guilt.

Her sister stopped singing when she was appointed Queen Regent, but Marianne had done nothing to aid her. Dawn was forced to recite dull speeches, listen to inquires, and command people in a voice she did not possess. The strain of such a change weighed heavily on her sound, and now Dawn no longer spoke like she had before. She found no more time to waste on songs about love, or the mere prospect of it.

It had been so long, and yet Marianne was unable to find ways to cure her sister’s weariness. _I’m not ready_ , Marianne thought. _I can’t_. But oh did she want to. She wanted to ease her sister’s mind; she wanted to erase the expression that did not suit her bright sister’s rosy cheeks—but the one to have placed that numbing stillness on Dawn’s face was no one but Marianne alone. There was no one else to blame.

And yet she was incapable of making a move to change it.

Unable to express her apology, she gave her sister a thin-lipped smile instead. “I’m always free, you know that.”

Nodding, Dawn looked at the next potential candidate over her shoulder, and ushered him in.

After so many weeks of this repeated affair, Dawn no longer commented on Marianne’s appearance. There were no longer her fussy flights about her, brushing her hair, or applying rouge to her cheeks. There were no longer any reprimands for her attire, or even her expression. Dawn even stopped bringing in the pixies for help—their services were always wasted anyway.

The _visitor_ that strode in had wild auburn hair and high cheekbones, although his eyebrows seemed heavily untrimmed. Decently handsome, Marianne guessed, but he walked with a stiffness that revealed nervousness and the reluctance to be there. He introduced himself with great respect, but his name fell on deaf ears—although such a fact he failed to notice. He also did _not_ seem to be intimidated by her deeply set frown.

Marianne sighed.

She just wanted to punch him, really.

Looking up, she caught the sight of Dawn smiling hopefully from the doorway, adjusting her sterling circlet, before closing Marianne’s bedroom door with a soft click.

Resigned, Marianne turned to the newest suitor and tried to offer a smile, but failed to produce the effort. He tried to ignore it, she could tell.

She started, “um, Terrance—“

“—It’s Trevor.”

“Well, Tristan, I’m really sorry to say, but this isn’t going to work.”

The boy blinked, surprised by such a fast rejection. He hadn’t even been given the chance to try. “M’lady, but I—“

Marianne raised a hand, already growing tired. She was still Queen, so the boy stopped talking immediately, although it seemed he almost bit his tongue in the process. She stared at him wearily, not feeling the slightest flicker of attraction. Not a skip. No shaky breath. Just itching knuckles.

“Do you love anyone, by chance?” She asked.

Trevor blinked again. “Pardon?”

“Are you in love with anyone?” She repeated.

Marianne watched his mind work, but since he was taking too long to respond—and because his face was reddening into an embarrassing shade of crimson—she decided to keep the conversation going, even if she had to do it by herself.

“It seems you are,” she stood, walking over to her window, squinting into the sun. “I suggest you go to her—or him—or whomever it is that holds your affections. They must be surprised that you’re here trying to woo the Queen, and break her supposed spell. You’re only here because you aren’t hitched—and I must apologize that you’ve been dragged into this little charade by the greater interest of the Fairy Court. However, I don’t want to waste your time, and I don’t want you to waste mine.”

Marianne turned back to visitor and stepped aside, waving her hand at the open window. “Go to them, would you? Your loved one, that is. To be made to love someone when you already love another—that’s a horrendous act of treason to yourself. Having to spend a week with me in the hopes I’ll fall in love you? Preposterous. Use the time you’re supposed use in being here, to be with whomever it is that you like. I won’t tell a soul.”

Trevor stared at her, stunned. Then, shaking himself, he bowed. “You are very kind, your Highness.”

Then he ran forward, leaping through the open window without a lack of grace, unfurling his wings with quick flourish. He caught the breeze, wings fluttering softly as he turned back to Marianne, jaw working in thought.

She stared at him. “What?” She asked, growing slightly impatient. She’d rather this Trevor be gone, but did not find it in herself to demand it.

“M’lady,” he said slowly, “I hope you understand why I _had_ to be here.”

 _Yes_ , she frowned. “I’m _not_ under a spell,” she scoffed, with enough finality that she hoped would shake this fairy from her window.

Trevor wore an expression that showed he did not believe her. He bowed once more, responding, “As you say, m’lady,” before fluttering away.

Marianne threw herself onto her flowerbed with a huff, frustration brewing in her gut and making her scowl. She _wasn’t_ under the control of some damned love potion. She would _not_ have let that happen to herself anyway. Does everyone think her a fool?

Looking around her to distract from her thoughts, she saw the mess that her room was in. Dresses lay on the floor, untouched and wrinkled—she had disregarded all of them in favour of nightgowns. Her silk curtains hung weakly by dwindling threads, worn down by her weeping into them. Everything, in fact, was in some form of disarray. Even her vanity was a dusty on its surface, having gone undisturbed for months.

Her room was certainly _not_ meant to host any form of company.

The only reason that allowed her unwanted visitors to be here was because of the fact that she had refused to leave it in the first place. After what happened to Roland, the world had lost its colour, and its beauty. Her King was lost to a war—died in fierce battle, as they say.

 _He was protecting us_ , she thought, curling into herself once again. _Now, he is lost to me._

She was rooted here, unable to leave her room by her own will. What did the outside have to offer now? The light of her life was gone.

She even felt purposeless. Aimless. Wandering about without a goal, or any real knowledge of what to do has been draining her for the past few weeks. This sensation of being unable to think for herself was becoming a nuisance.

Feeling the weight of sleep upon her, she shut her eyes and tried to erase the nightmares of luminous pink dust, and a sly grin. They were visions that stirred into fruition out of hearing everyone’s fervid claims against her love for him. Visions, she was sure, that were planted by their frequent gossiping about her marriage with Roland.

She muttered under her breath, almost in prayer and in desperate hope, “I am not under a spell.”

* * *

 

Sunny jumped at the sudden sigh that filled the room. Recovering from the surprise, he looked up to see Dawn lifting her crown from her head. Her tousled hair seemed to breathe with life, now free from its sterling prison. She ruffled it, picked at the dents the crown placed on her hair. Blue eyes stared at the floor numbly.

“Dawn!” The elf stood, his voice echoing down the empty hall of the throne room. He tried to put enough cheer into his voice, in hopes it would seep and revive Dawn’s spirit, but his attempt at liveliness had no effect on his best friend.

The Queen Regent looked up in alarm, fingering the circlet in her hands. Her arms twitched, about to place the circlet back on her head. When she realized it was just Sunny, she relaxed and allowed her hands to fall to her sides.

She smiled, an echo of the light that had filled her before being crowned for the interest of the kingdom. A flicker of what once was trickled into her eyes as she skipped over and sat next to him.

“How’s Marianne?” Sunny asked, sitting next to her.

Dawn sighed. “The same as ever. I expect she’s just sent Gregor away so she doesn’t have to deal with him.”

“It’s Trevor,” Sunny laughed.

“Oh?” Dawn rested her chin in her palm, giggling. “I hardly pay attention anymore.”

“Understandable,” Sunny shrugged. He leapt to his feet, dancing on his toes as he circled his Queen. “I bet Trevor’s out frolicking with whomever it was he was courting before he was selected as the next candidate to break Marianne’s spell.”

“Probably.” Dawn groaned before flinging herself backwards onto the cold floor of the throne room. Silence filled the air around them for a few seconds as Sunny allowed her to think to herself. Then she asked in a small, wistful voice, “How are the fields today, Sunny?”

He stilled, watching Dawn forlornly. “As bright as they ever were,” he whispered.

“Describe them.”

And so he did. He told her of the bright daisies facing the sky, and the shades of the grass that was almost painfully green; they even rivaled the mint leaves they use to decorate the halls. He told her of the wind and the river, and the pink of the clouds at dusk. He told her everything he had seen, and everything that changed as Spring turned to Summer. He told her of the scent of the tulips and the roses, and even the sound of the crickets at night.

“You can always see it for yourself, y’know.”

Dawn shook her head, eyes tightly shut as her imaginations faded back to the ceiling of the room. “No. Not until Marianne is cured.”

Sunny sighed. “Just because Marianne stays inside all day, doesn’t mean you have to.”

“No,” she sat up. “But I know for a fact that if _I_ had been the one dusted with the love potion, Marianne would have done anything to cure me. She wouldn’t have gone a day without sleep if she could, just to make sure I returned to normal. And since I know this is true, I won’t pretend I wouldn’t do the same for her. I love Marianne, I won’t let her be tied down by what Roland did to her.

“Sunny, I swear I’ll find him. I’ll find the guy that will break her spell. And I’ll have my sister back. I swear it.”

Then Dawn stood, brushing off her skirt before placing her crown back on her head. She waved to him a quick goodbye as she walked out of the courtroom, determination renewing her and setting her shoulders as she returned to the affairs she had delayed in meeting him.

Sunny looked down at his hands. He felt helpless now, watching Dawn do everything she could as the Queen Regent. All he ever did nowadays was tell her stories about life outside the palace. It wasn’t as if she _couldn’t_ leave—she had the choice to do whatever she pleased—but Dawn had vowed that she’d take care of everything. She was the last one left who was of royal blood, and she was not going to turn over the crown to anyone else.

“Marianne will come back,” Dawn assured everyone. “And until she does, I will take her place.”

Dawn even refused to marry for this. She brushed off the distractions of flirtation and dedicated herself to the work of a ruler. She worked hard everyday to keep the kingdom on its feet as she tried to find the right suitor for her sister on the side. She labored everyday, and yet for no real reward.

Sunny stared at his small hands. _Helpless_ hands. He balled them into fists, frustration blooming in his gut.

He’d help her. Somehow, he wanted to relieve some of the pressure off of Dawn’s shoulders. She struggled everyday, and who was he to just watch her bend under the pressure of the entire kingdom? To break under the workload she took on herself?

Suddenly, an idea dawned on him. The Summer Solstice festival was fast approaching. Last year, they had cancelled it, and this year the festival was nearing a similar fate.

Dawn needed a time to relax, and Sunny knew that this festival could be just that. She didn’t even have to break a sweat, because Sunny would take care of everything.

Smiling to himself, he decided that if he could’ve helped Dawn in any way, this was it.

He wasn’t going to let his best friend endure everything alone. He was going to be right by her side when she needed it.


End file.
